Little in the dark of a Donegal sky 

gives way, until the eyes soften

to a clarity where hidden 

ancient light reveals itself. 

In time, when there is space 

for clouds to shed their cloak,

star trails streak slow in circles, 

like cool astral spirography.

Joy and wonder never fail, 

standing rooted and barefooted

in my front yard, earthed,

like a human lightning rod.

Still, casting sway to the north,

earth's rotation is imperceptible

as a thousand miles whoosh by,

 

I’ve stood in awe 

as all the full moons came and went. 

Holding breath as Wolf, Flower 

and Sturgeon refract on my horizon.

My own aura gleamed on witnessing 

the reddish greens of the aurora

now the myth of the Arctic foxtail 

sparks light in our own northern sky. 

I’ve felt the ping of bat's sonar 

split the air when neck hairs rustle 

like fern fields on a summer’s day.

I’ve listened to my own chest pulse

and recognised its resonance.

 

I no longer make a wish 

on Perseids shooting stars

while men’s satellite crack-lines 

pollute this dark sky.

But I also no longer feel alone

as our planet rockets sixty 

thousand miles an hour, radiating 

in the beauty and speed of light.

The gravity of all this holds me 

fixed to this spot, loving

how I remain constantly in wonder, 

yet perfectly balanced.